Weakness
by YamiKatie
Summary: After Malik's body was taken over by his psychopathic alter ego, Isis and Rishid hire a certain white-haired tomb robber to help get him back...
1. part1

A/N: This fic is kinda a mix between 'Mental Stimulation' and 'Mou Hitori no Boku' so if you liked either or both of those fics then you'll probably like this. If you haven't read any of my previous fics it doesn't matter, as this isn't a sequel or anything.

I'm posting this as a two-part fic, because it's about eleven hand-written pages and as I'm officially grounded from the computer I just have to sneak on and type it up whenever I can. If I posted this as a one-shot it wouldn't be up for _weeks._

Warnings: occasional bad language

Disclaimer: in another world, Malik would be mine.

………………..

Weakness

Taken by surprise, the woman didn't even have time to scream. The perfectly timed kick knocked her to the ground, face shoved into dirt. Long dark hands slipped almost lazily around her neck, fingers going instantly to the pressure point under the ear. Then, with a giggle, the fingers twisted sideways. There was a sickening crack, barely audible, and her head lolled sideways.

He stood up carefully, surveying the lifeless bundle in satisfaction. Pleasure bubble through his body, bringing with it a feeling of light-headedness, and another giggle popped out. So weak…it was almost as if she wanted to die.

If left to itself, the body would soon begin to stiffen, limbs and muscles contorting into rigor mortis. But he didn't intend to leave the evidence lying around for anyone to find. Pulling a gold-coloured object from his jeans, he pointed it at the body. The language flowing easily from his mouth, he whispered Arabic softly to the air. The corpse shivered in reply, and something faint and shadowy wisped up from it. More Arabic, even softer, and purple-black flames engulfed the body, feeding on the now soul-less form. The awful smell of burning meat filled the air; he breathed it in and smiled again.

Then it was over – a few black ashes all that remained. She wouldn't be missed for days, perhaps weeks, they never were. And even then it wouldn't be taken too seriously. Cairo was overpopulated anyway, and a few dozen people more or less wouldn't make much difference. He ground the cinders into the earth with his foot, pushing them down and down. The gold object was replaced in his pocket, fingers lightly caressing the smooth surface. A quick glance to check that nothing remained, then he was gone, as silently as he had come, slipping back into the shadows that encircled the park.

………..

Yami Malik opened his purple eyes slowly, still laughing quietly at the memory at memory of last night's kill. It had been quick, and therefore disappointing, at least by his standards. So much better if they screamed…

But that would attract attention, which he didn't want. Perhaps he could work out some sort of compromise. Allowing the person one last, lost shriek would make him feel better, but it was too noisy. He still hadn't quite perfected his technique, he though regretfully. Never mind. All he needed was practice.

In the back of his head he felt another presence stir, awakening sluggishly. The spirit grinned fiendishly. Ah ha, something helpless for him to torment. He gave the other, lighter half of himself a mental poke, and felt him pull away.

Disorientated, pulling himself out of the folds of sleep, the hikari mumbled, (R-Rishid?)

Yami Malik felt a flicker of annoyance at _that name,_ but still he smirked and said, ((No. Guess again.))

(You…) Malik was awake now.

((That's right. You **are** a clever little weakling. Did the clever little weakling sleep well?)) His yami's tone was mocking, a sneer plastered on his face.

Malik ignored the question, instead asking one of his own. ((How…how many this time?))

((Eight,)) the spirit lied coolly.

Malik groaned, and with an effort staggered out of bed. He didn't bother asking "Why?" – he already knew. Though it didn't make the guilt any easier to bear. He rubbed the sleep absently from his eyes, and it was accompanied as always by the familiar clatter, as his chains moved against each other. They ran like snakes from the bed to the manacles around his wrists and ankles, preventing him from taking more than thirteen steps towards the door of his soul room. Thirteen steps, forwards or sideways. For some people, thirteen is a lucky number. To Malik it was the worst number of all, the one that brought to his mind, no matter what, the idea of restraints and imprisonment.

((I was only joking. You really are gullible, weakling. It was only one.))

(Only…) Before, Malik wouldn't have celebrate the loss of 'only' one life, but now the only thing that mattered was that one was less than eight. A lot less.

Feeling his mental self convulse, limbs shaking involuntarily, he leaned against the wall. Like his other, he was also feeling light-headed, but for a different reason.

(Yami…)

((What are you whinging about now?))

(Please…I just want food…I _need_ it…I'm so hungry…)

((Oh? So you want _food _now? Well**I** want you to **SHUT UP!**)) his other self roared. ((You asked me that yesterday! I don't want a weak little brat like you whining all the time! It gets annoying!))

In the beginning, this sudden change of mood alone would have caused Malik to shut up, but he had become used to his yami's mood swings. Besides, he was a lot more desperate than he had been before.

Unlike Yami Bakura at his worst, Yami Malik didn't care in the least what sort of condition his weaker half's body was in. Long nights of running all over Cairo and killing everyone he could find were beginning to take their toll on Malik's body. It didn't help at all that Yami Malik, being a spirit, never bothered to feed his light's body or let it sleep, being of the opinion that if he didn't need food or sleep, then his light's body didn't either. He did drink occasionally, just about enough to keep the body alive, but it was always his light, trapped helplessly in his soul room, who was on the receiving end of the hunger pangs.

Malik could and would fall asleep on his soul room, but his body was always active. The weariness he always felt was getting harder to fight, as he was constantly physically exhausted.

The spirit thought slowly, weighing the pros and cons on the situation in his unstable mind. On one hand, he didn't particularly care what happened to his light. Let him suffer. On the other hand, the fact remained that Yami Malik needed his hikari's body. He wasn't totally sure whether he needed his actual hikari or not, but for now was content to leave him ensnared in his soul room.

Still thinking, the spirit withdrew into their head, standing between their two soul rooms. A long time ago, when Rishid had been with them at every moment, Yami Malik's soul room had had bars on it, symbolising the prison that was his mind. Now it was his hikari's room that was the prison.

Not that Rishid was dead, of course, It would have been easier for Yami Malik if he was. With Rishid out of the way he could reach their sister. The spirit knew that once Isis was dead, his hikari would, effectively, cease to be a problem. Even better, perhaps he would be driven mad with grief. Yes, let him be the crazy one for a change.

He stopped, suddenly._ I'm not crazy…_

Who are you trying to fool? You're insane, a psychopath.

Kill, kill, kill…

I'm not crazy…

You know you want to…

Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness. Madness MADNESS **MADNESS…**

I'm not crazy…

He growled and shook his head, sending the dark voices skittering away. Yami Malik was perfectly aware that many people, including his hikari, the Pharaoh and the Tomb Robber, thought he was insane. He himself found this term irritating. Just because he was different from them, it made them feel better to go ahead and call him crazy.

Angrier than he thought he was, the spirit stormed moodily up to his light's soul room, opening it with a well-placed kick.

Malik looked up dully, as if expecting him. Many years ago

Like the naïve little fool I was…

No, I'm not a fool…

he had thought that the only person who could go into a soul room was yourself. Somehow, his yami had managed to overcome this last barrier, destroying the last vestige of privacy his light had been granted. Malik hated this the most out of all the things his other did, because when he came in, it was as if he were trespassing in somewhere private, the most private place of all…

A soul room contained all your innermost thoughts and dreams, all the little things that made a person individual. Even the objects in there reflected your personality. It was the last place you wanted your worst enemy to be.

He watched nervously as his yami looked him up and down, eyes slightly narrowed. Malik had no idea what his other was thinking - he never did. Yami Malik, on the other hand, knew exactly what his light was thinking. Especially now, when he was in his soul room. Bringing out the Millennium Rod, he held it lazily in one hand, watching with glee as his hikari twitched, his expression to one of barely restrained longing. Despite what he had always maintained, Malik had actually been quite fond of the Rod.

((Just look at you. You're so weak.)) Yami Malik's face curled into an expression of disgust as he surveyed his light's slender frame, which was almost emaciated from starvation. After a moment he said softly, ((So, you want _food._ Are you sure?))

Malik was uncertain whether this was leading to another hysterical outburst, as the soft, controlled tone was uncharacteristic of his yami, but he nodded all the same. (Y-yes. Please.) It shamed him to beg, but he was desperate he was beyond caring.

((Very well.)) Yami Malik continued to speak using that calm, almost understanding tone. His light was to learn as the years went by that this usually led up to the worst happenings of all.

((You shall have your food. And your body will live to see another day.))

(Thank you…)

The spirit focused their eyes upon a small child, no more than three years old, walking down the street while holding his mother's hand tightly. ((But his will not.))

Bafflement. Then disbelief, and growing horror. (No…)

((Neither will hers.)) His yami mentally indicated the mother. Then he pointed out several others, all young children, all happy. All alive. ((In return for your food, all of these little children will die tonight. How do you feel about that?))

(No!) Malik cried. (You can't do that!)

((Who are you to tell me what I can or can't do? You've made your choice.))

(But-)

((One more word and I'll double it. How many people do you want to die tonight, weakling? Ten? Twenty?))

(You…you wouldn't…)

((Don't make me laugh. You know I would.))

(No-)

((I've already told you to be quiet. Do you need another reminder?)) The manacles around Malik's wrists became painfully tight, digging into his dark skin. He shut up instantly, biting his lip to prevent himself from crying out.

When the chains relaxed and the pain subsided, he hesitated, then carefully rubbed his chafed wrists to get the blood flowing again. Not that he could feel it. The only sensation Malik ever felt in his soul room was pain, mixed with varying moments of reprieve, when the numbness took over.

He looked up timidly, half cringing, but al he saw was his yami staring impassively back, eyes blank and expressionless. For a strange second he sensed that his other half was disappointed in him, as if he had failed some kind of easy test. But then the spirit shrugged, and with a small sigh turned away, fading into the higher parts of Malik's mind and taking control of their body.

Yami Malik couldn't really put his feelings into words, but he felt almost let down by his light. Yes, he was weak, but it would have been nice if he'd shown a bit of spirit, instead of cowering and whining like a baby. And such a fuss over such little pain. It had hardly hurt at all.

……….

He wandered down the almost-deserted streets for a bit, looking for a café or newsagents that would serve his purpose. There were virtually no people about, as Egypt got so hot during the day that nearly everyone stayed inside. There weren't many shops open, either.

When he eventually found a suitable one, the spirit went in and bought a sandwich, then headed to the local park, where he could be sure of some peace and quiet. The presence of other people only pleased him if they were dead – alive, they just annoyed him.

He had toyed briefly with the idea of buying a meat sandwich, to agonise his hikari further, but decided against it. Malik had always been a strict vegetarian, as he abhorred the thought of eating something that had once been alive. Personally, Yami Malik couldn't see what his problem was. However, if he bought something with meat in there was always the possibility that Malik would refuse to eat it, no matter how hungry he was. That would cause more problems, which the spirit wasn't in the mood for.

Slouching lazily across a bench, he reached into the lower aspects of his mind and tugged roughly at his light, saying impatiently, ((You want this or not? Because I don't.))

(Wha-what?) Malik looked down in disbelief as the fetters opened up, chains falling away to vanish into nothing. For several seconds he stood there, hardly able to comprehend what was going on. Then, a low growl from his other reminded him of the situation and, taking a deep breath, his whole body tensed, he stepped hesitatingly towards the door of his soul room.

………

When Malik opened his eyes again, it was with a feeling that he had just stepped out of a dream. Lush, dewy grass beneath his feet, the wooden bench beneath him, reassuringly solid…he blinked several times, the glare of the hot Egyptian sun fierce and unforgiving after the semi-darkness of his soul room. It was the first time he had been out of his soul room in a month.

((Yes, this is the world,)) came the sarcastic, cutting tone of his dark. ((Wonderful place, isn't it? Now hurry up and eat. You're annoying me.))

Malik looked up to see his other half standing in front of him, a pale, shadowy figure. When he reverted to his spirit form, shunning his body completely, Malik was the only one who could see him. To the causal passer-by, there was no one there.

(Sorry,) he mumbled. Shifting his position a little, he ran his fingers down the jewellery on his arms, delighting in the feeling of actually _feeling_ something. The metal was cool to the touch – smooth too, except for the ridges where the bands were. Lowering his gaze, he stared slowly at his arms, which were pitted with long, deep scars. One common trait of manic-depressives was that when they sank into a particularly depressive mood they took it out on themselves, usually by cutting or burning. Now that Yami Malik had virtually unlimited victims he cut himself much less often, but there would still be times where he extended the blade of the Millennium Rod and sank it into his wrists, his eyes blank and empty.

Malik sighed, pulling his eyes away with difficulty. He had seen them many times before – his yami often made him watch – but the scars still held for him a morbid, yet almost guilty fascination. Sometimes when he was depressed, his yami could be almost 'normal.' But usually, when his melancholy was so great that he could think of nothing else, that was when Yami Malik was at his worst. For when he felt psychotic he could go out and kill someone, to give himself that addictive high, but at least he took reasonable precautions to ensure his light's body didn't get too hurt in the process. When he was depressed though, so convinced was he that he was going to simply fall apart, he would think yet again that as he was doomed, he may as well take as many people as possible with him, without caring in the least what happened to Malik's body.

Malik knew it was stupid, but he couldn't help wondering how the rest of his body looked. He hadn't washed for weeks, and he knew he probably smelled like total shit. The sudden realisation came that he wasn't wearing any eyeliner, and he felt strangely self-conscious. The emotion felt so unfamiliar, so out of place, that he nearly laughed. Ra, but he would have traded his lung for an eyeliner pencil.

The constant impatient tapping of his yami's foot jolted Malik unpleasantly out of his daydream. He suddenly remembered his hunger, and at the same time the sandwich, still in his pocket.

Scrabbling clumsily in his jeans, he retrieved the food and pulled it out of the plastic packaging with fumbling fingers. Normally he wasn't so inelegant, but he was so unused to being out of his soul room that it was as if he had to relearn how to use his body. His yami watched him with a kind of weary patience.

Malik ate the food as slowly as he dared; although his gaze was focused downwards he could still feel the eyes of his other upon him. Malik's left hand was by his side; for a second he felt the knobbly bulge of the Millennium Rod in his pocket and a powerful temptation stole over him. He was in control, he could run…

This thought amused Yami Malik and he made a sound that was halfway between a giggle and a disbelieving snort. ((Go on then, weakling. Go ahead and run. But no matter how far you go, it'll never be far enough to get away from me.))

His light didn't answer, and Yami Malik's eyes narrowed dangerously. If the weakling thought he could get away with ignoring him, it meant that he didn't fear him enough. And if he didn't fear him then he wouldn't obey him. In the spirit's mind it was as simple as that. He was about to come out with a crushingly sarcastic comment, when he heard his light mumble something, very quietly.

((What did you say?))

(…I…)

((Yes?))

(…I…I'm not weak…)


	2. part2

A/N: Okay, after a lot of thinking I finally came up with an alternative ending to 'Weakness.' Personally, I think it's a quite a bit better than the old ending, but then it couldn't have been much worse. While writing the original second part of Weakness, I found that I wasn't enjoying writing as much as I usually did. I also wasn't sure about the story as a whole, but felt obliged to carry it on. Yes, the warning signs were there, but I stupidly chose to ignore them. Well, now I've re-written Weakness chapter 2, and this time I AM relatively pleased with the result, so I typed it up as quickly as I could and posted it up. Please let me know what you think, especially the people who reviewed the original ending, because it's TOTALLY different from before. For those of you who didn't get to read the first one before I deleted it, I'll just say that you weren't missing much.  
  
Oh, and I know it seems at first glance as if I've abandoned Malik's situation altogether, but I haven't, honest. Just keep reading. And please review. Thanks.  
  
Warnings: quite a bit of bad language, little bit of violence, yaoi (!). Yes people, you DID read that right. This is my first attempt at anything yaoi-ish, apart from taking the piss out of Yugi/Yami couples. If you like it then I might try some more. Who know?  
  
Arabic:  
  
Ma'assalama: goodbye/go in peace  
  
Akhii: my brother  
  
Na'am: yes  
  
Japanese:  
  
Yami no Malik no jinkaku: Malik's dark personality  
  
Yadonushi: host (as if you all didn't know that by now!)  
  
Weakness (part two)  
  
Yami Bakura slouched lazily across a chair, not bothering to look at the two Egyptians sitting opposite him. When he spoke his voice was devoid of all emotion and interest.  
  
"So, why am I here?"  
  
Isis glanced at Rishid before replying, noting the dislike etched upon his face. "As you are no doubt aware, three weeks ago the…the darkness within our brother came to the surface, taking control of him. When this happened he left our house, taking the Millennium Rod with him. Thanks to the Tauk, we know that at this moment he is in Egypt somewhere; possibly still in Cairo. Rishid and I want to find yami no Malik no jinkaku, and force him to set Malik free."  
  
"With my help, I suppose."  
  
"Na'am, of course."  
  
Yami Bakura threw back his head and laughed, a harsh, grating sound.  
  
"What's so funny?" Rishid snapped. He didn't like Yami Bakura in the slightest, and was making no secret of it. His arrogance alone was enough to make Rishid clench his fists.  
  
The sprit stopped, fixing a mocking, insolent smile on his face. "The irony. It's delicious. Do you not realise that you are asking a person who has already conquered their host's body to stop another spirit doing the same?"  
  
"I'm perfectly aware of that," Isis said through gritted teeth.  
  
"Good, good. I like to know the extent of other people's stupidity before I think about working with them. By the way, purely out of curiosity, why me? I'm sure the Pharaoh would be more than willing to help."  
  
"Na'am, probably. But the fact remains that in this instance your Item has more useful…skills than the Millennium Puzzle. The only idea the Pharaoh would be able to come up with would be a duel, and we're pretty certain yami no Malik no jinkaku would refuse."  
  
The spirit nodded, saying nothing.  
  
"…Also, the Pharaoh has no reason to want to help Malik, other than us asking him. You knew Malik far better than the Pharaoh did, so you would have a better idea of how he, and the…other him would react in certain situations."  
  
"Perhaps." Yami Bakura stared off into space as his brain began to spark off ideas. Then, snapping back to reality, he said coolly, "Now. What's in this for me?"  
  
"…What the hell do you mean, 'what's in this for me?'" Rishid exploded. He slammed his fist down on the table. "This is Malik's soul we're talking about here, and you want payment for helping to rescue it?"  
  
"Of course," Yami Bakura said smoothly. "I don't give out my services for nothing."  
  
Isis sighed, placing a dark hand on her adopted brother's shoulder in an effort to calm him down. "What do you want?"  
  
The corner of the Ring-spirit's mouth curved upwards slightly in a smile, albeit a twisted one. "Surely it isn't that hard to work out. You two are Tomb-Keepers. I'm a Tomb-Robber. Therefore you know where the gold, treasure etc. of the ancient Pharaohs are hidden-"  
  
"Forget it," Rishid said instantly.  
  
"Well forget rescuing Malik then." Yami Bakura stood, pushing his chair back with a dull scrape and brushing his black shirt down. "As we obviously can't come to an agreement, I see no point in remaining here any longer. My time is precious, and I don't intend on wasting any more of it on you two. Ma'assalama."  
  
Isis' eyes flashed and she also stood up, seizing the Ring-spirit's shirt in sharp, ruthless fingers. In steely tones, she said, "Tomb Robber, you are going to help us. No questions." Her eyes fell on the long kitchen knife lying by the chopping board and she picked it up in her other hand, bringing the point up so it was level with the spirit's throat. "Or I'll kill you."  
  
Yami Bakura raised an elegant eyebrow, looking bored. "Oh yes? That's it? Pathetic."  
  
Isis growled softly, pressing the knife tip in further so that it just penetrated the pale skin. A single drop of blood welled up.  
  
The spirit didn't flinch. "I'll say this for you: you've got guts. But guts on their own aren't going to rescue Malik."  
  
Emotionlessly, he brought up his left wrist and effortlessly flicked the knife from Isis' grip. He threw the knife backward without even looking, and it landed in the sink.  
  
"Which is why we need you," Isis said quietly.  
  
"Na'am." Yami Bakura's tone was satisfied. Causally he lifted a finger to his throat, wiping away the blood, and then licked it up with a pointed tongue. A pause. "Fine. I'll do it. For that." He pointed to the Tauk around the woman's neck. "I'm a…collector of Millennium Items."  
  
"Very well." Isis' fingers moved to the necklace, then stopped. "After you help us. And if we succeed."  
  
The Tomb-Robber snorted. "Of course we will, now that I'm helping."  
  
"Arrogant bastard…" Rishid muttered under his breath.  
  
Yami Bakura's head turned ninety degrees, fixating the Egyptian with his cold stare. "I think you will find that is a matter of opinion. To me, you are nothing more than one of the thousands of weak fools who I am forced to share a world with. Shall we begin?"  
  
Rishid nodded slowly, still inwardly seething.  
  
"First step-find him. We can formulate a plan on the way." The spirit reached down and held up the Ring in his hand, pale fingers gripping both sides of the circle and pyramid. He closed his eyes and the tines wriggled upwards, moving for a moment towards Isis, then pointing confidently to the left.  
  
After a few moments, curiosity overtook natural dislike and Rishid asked curiously, "how does it know what Item we want to find?"  
  
Yami Bakura opened his eyes, pitying contempt written clearly on his face. "It doesn't," he replied shortly. "But as the Tauk is already here, we have a choice of four Items. Just don't blame me if we end up on the Pharaoh's doorstep instead." He looked down at the Ring, which was vibrating softly, giving off a faint humming noise. "This way."  
  
Isis followed him out of the room, pausing to grab the knife from the sink. Rishid, though, stayed where he was, a slightly puzzled look on his face. After counting slowly on his fingers he said in a confused voice, "Four? But I thought there were-"  
  
His sister's voice floated impatiently through the kitchen. "Come on!"  
  
………………..  
  
Malik could tell this had totally thrown his yami. The comment seemed so unexpected that he had no idea what to make of it.  
  
((What…what the fuck do you mean?)) Yami Malik stared at his light as if tentacles had just sprouted out of his head.  
  
((Of…of course you're weak…)) He wasn't used to people challenging his views. Especially his hikari, who tended to just sit there and let him get on with whatever he wanted to do.  
  
Fidgeting slightly under his yami's unnerving gaze, which was slightly wide-eyed; and uncertain what to do or say, Malik simply stared back with all the boldness he could muster. At times, his other could have an oddly child-like expression, as if he was too young to understand what was going on, and he had this now.  
  
((You…you're weird,)) Yami Malik whispered finally. ((I don't understand…))  
  
His light was feeling as if he was in a dream. There was the same numbness and feeling of surrealism of not being there, of not being awake. The word "weird" was not normally a part of his yami's vocabulary. Neither was the phrase "I don't understand," except when it went along the lines of "I don't understand how a weakling like you can find the intelligence to walk and talk at the same time."  
  
The next moment he knew he must be dreaming, because Isis was standing there in front of him…  
  
"S-Sis…?"  
  
((What?)) Yami Malik snapped instantly out of his mood, or catatonia, or whatever it was. He saw Isis immediately, and his expression became a more familiar one: that of the utmost loathing.  
  
He threw himself back in control so hard his vision blurred. Gripping the Rod, he stood up. "You…!" The words were delivered in an animal snarl, as his hair flared out around him in its characteristic lion's mane. "What the fuck are you doing here?"  
  
"Just taking a walk around Cairo," his sister replied coolly. "It isn't illegal, you know."  
  
"The fuck it isn't!" Yami Malik's eyes were blazing in hatred. He wondered if he could use the Rod to kill her outright, or whether the Tauk would get in the way…  
  
Isis blocked the shadow power just in time, mind reeling from the blow. She realised now that whatever happened, she mustn't let him get nearer, or his superior strength would mean that she would almost certainly die.  
  
"If you think I'll spare you just because you're my light's sister, then you've made a fatal mistake," the spirit hissed.  
  
He stepped nearer, features morphing into those of the psychopath Isis knew and hated. "You fucking bitch, I'll teach you to come sneaking around after me…"  
  
Isis did the wise thing then, and ran, ran for her life.  
  
She nearly made it.  
  
The Millennium Rod spun through the air and caught her between the ankles. She fell to the ground in a tangled heap.  
  
Looking up, she saw the psychotic yami approach her, taking his time. His lack of speed was a blatant insult - he knew she couldn't run away.  
  
The Rod's blade was buried deep in her left ankle and she tugged it out, wincing at the pain. A giggle behind her told her Yami Malik was near, and sure enough, there he was, standing over her like a wolf guarding its prey. His shadow cast her face into darkness.  
  
"You little bitch." He was nearly hysterical with sick happiness. "I told you I'd get you, didn't I? Now I'm going to kill you. I'm going to rip your heart out and slit your throat and its going to be so fun…"  
  
"Malik, where are you?" Isis whispered. She struggled upright, only to be sent sprawling to the ground with a well-placed kick. "Come on akhii, I know you're in there somewhere…"  
  
Looking a cross between amused and annoyed, Yami Malik forced a laugh. "Don't waste your breath, sister. He can't hear you."  
  
Ignoring him, the Egyptian woman searchingly into the dark eyes. They were a purpley-black, the same colour as the flames of the Shadow Realm. "Listen to me, akhii. You can fight him…you have to push him back…"  
  
(Let me out! Isis…)  
  
The spirit sighed pityingly, holding back his lighter half easily while raising an eyebrow at their sister. "That sentimental bullshit only works in films. If you're trying to make an idiot of yourself then carry on talking."  
  
He raised the Rod.  
  
Suddenly a blue woman, moving so fast her shape was a blur, collided with him and knocked Yami Malik to the ground. Dark Necrophia grabbed the Rod and tossed it to her master. Item-less, unable to believe what had just happened, Yami Malik jumped to his feet.  
  
A certain white-haired Tomb Robber stood not ten metres in front of him, one foot placed casually on the Rod. His arms were folded, and he looked almost bored.  
  
"Guess what."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Its National Kill The Psycho Day. And look who else I brought along to join me." Yami Bakura stepped casually aside, to reveal Rishid.  
  
At this, the other spirit's eyes went wide, and almost before he knew what he was doing, he was running. But his sister stuck out a foot, and he tripped over it, swearing viciously.  
  
"Bitch!"  
  
But then he heard footsteps, and knew Rishid was there. The Egyptian's presence aroused some primitive instinct, some basic fear, in Yami Malik. Getting to his feet, he backed away, still not sure why he was afraid.  
  
"Aw, is the ickle Psycho afwaid?" Yami Bakura mocked. He grinned. "You should be."  
  
"Fuck you-"  
  
Then the beam from the Ring hit him and he collapsed.  
  
…………….  
  
Taking his sister's wrists, Rishid pulled her gently upright. "You all right?"  
  
Isis touched her injury gingerly and grimaced. "I'll live." Suddenly her injury was forgotten, as she remembered her brother. "Malik!"  
  
She rushed to her brother, curled up in the smallest possible ball upon the ground.  
  
"Akhii?"  
  
"Isis…" Malik stirred and opened his eyes. He was immediately seized and hugged in strong, unrelenting arms. "Ow! Sis…I can't breathe…"  
  
"Sorry." He was hastily released, and then wrapped again in her arms, more gently this time. "Thank Ra you're back…"  
  
At this Rishid looked at Yami Bakura. "I suppose we should be thanking you too." There was no enthusiasm whatsoever in his voice.  
  
A shrug. "If you want." Yami Bakura toyed with the card in his hand for a moment then, with a swift sideways motion of his hand, ripped it in two. The sound seemed strangely loud for so small an action. He shredded it even further, before crumpling up the pieces and scrunching them into a ball, replacing them in his pocket. "Waste of a perfectly good card, really."  
  
As he spoke Yami Bakura nodded curtly to Dark Necrophia, and the Duel Monster vanished. Her card reappeared in his deck as if it had never left.  
  
Isis stood, clutching a now desperately wriggling Malik as if he would be spirited away at any moment. With her free hand, she unfastened the Tauk from around her neck and held it out to the expectant Tomb Robber. "One Tauk, as promised."  
  
Yami Bakura's face twisted into an expression of glee, before reverting to the expressionless mask again. "Three down, four to go," he murmured. None but Malik heard him. The spirit put the gold necklace in his jacket pocket, unable to hide another triumphant grin.  
  
"He reacted exactly as you predicted," Rishid whispered to him quietly. "I couldn't believe it."  
  
Yami Bakura smiled, revealing long canines. "Takes one to know one, I suppose." He smiled again, colder this time. It was faintly unnerving to watch.  
  
"Shall we go home now?" That was from Isis.  
  
Rishid nodded, meeting the Tomb Robber's eyes for a moment. "Thanks."  
  
The spirit inclined his head slightly. It was enough.  
  
Malik cast an uncertain glance at him, before hesitantly reaching down and picking up the Millennium Rod.  
  
"Yes, you might want to keep that," Yami Bakura remarked lazily. "It might come in useful."  
  
"Come on, akhii." Rishid put an arm around him.  
  
……………..  
  
It was nearly half past nine before Yami Bakura got home. Before getting changed, he put the Tauk on the bedside table, where he could see it easily.  
  
He reacted exactly as you predicted…  
  
Not a bad plan, really.  
  
I couldn't believe it…  
  
(Naïve little things, weren't they?) said an amused voice in the back of his head. (Thinking it was your idea and everything. Honestly.)  
  
((Yours, mine. It's the same thing. …Near enough.))  
  
(Near enough,) Ryou echoed. He allowed himself a brief mental grin.  
  
His yami split off, sitting on the bed in their night clothes. "Why do you always seem to some up with the good ideas anyway?"  
  
"Natural talent." Ryou pushed him back against the pillows, climbing on top of him. "Quiet now, yami. There's only one sound now I want to hear from you."  
  
He ran delicate fingers up the inside of his yami's leg, feeling him shiver at the touch. The spirit pulled himself up and kissed him, colours swirling before them. The two halves, more one than two, fell sideways. Ryou deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue inside his yami's mouth, and was rewarded with a soft mental moan.  
  
(Much better…)  
  
He paused for breath, shoving his yami beneath him. Soon they were both mixed up in the blankets, and in each other.  
  
((Love you, yadonushi.))  
  
(I know.) 


End file.
